


Orrinbyrde

by NorskKatt



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama & Romance, Dream World, Eventual Romance, Fantasy, Hurt/Comfort, Original Character(s), Original Universe, Orrinbyrde, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2019-06-22 21:55:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15591534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorskKatt/pseuds/NorskKatt
Summary: Toby, Olive, and Evren are three teenagers who meet up in a dream world with no clue why they're there, yet everyone in this world knows who they are. They are told they are the only ones who can stop an evil demon, Nihasa, who plans to destroy the dream world Orrinbyrde. Will they combine their strengths and bring down Nihasa? Or will their petty bickering be the cause of their and Orrinbyrde's demise?*Rated T for swears**Co-Creators aren't on AO3





	1. Toby

_ It’s a rare occasion when I actually find myself dreaming. On a list—a rather extensive one, at that—of all of my peculiar little quirks and idiosyncratic oddities, I’ve come to the conclusion that my dreamless nights get placed at the very top of the list. The research I’ve done suggests that I’m most likely not getting enough REM sleep. It’s plausible—I stay up too late, sometimes all the way until the sun begins to rise. Perhaps my body just doesn’t have enough time to sleep soundly. That, however, is not what this journal entry is about. I once read on a psychology website that writing can calm anxiety. I thought that I might try it out since I have anxiety to spare. It’s the summer after my high school graduation. Just like anyone else, I have no idea what to do with myself. This feels like useless details since it’s 2 AM. I should probably go to sleep. _

My journal makes a soft _ thud  _ against the wood of my bedside table, almost in protest of my cease of writing. It’s as if it were asking me—no,  _ begging _ me—to do something,  _ anything _ , other than lying restlessly on my mattress, staring at the ceiling. Sleep has never come easily to me. Still, it’s worth a try. 

As predicted, I  _ do  _ in fact, lie restlessly. I can feel the time passing me by—slowly, as if I were watching water boil. I’m  _ determined. _ Keeping my eyes scrunched closed in high hopes of quenched exhaustion, I try to force sleep to catch up to my tired body.

Physically,  _ tired  _ doesn’t even  _ begin  _ to describe the state of my body. Beaten up with an aluminum baseball bat and then thrown through a woodchipper,  _ maybe.  _ My mind, however, is awake, buzzing with anxious overthinking and the mental sounds of improbable scenarios being played out on the back of my eyelids. That’s the issue—my mind and body can’t seem to compromise on my sleep-related needs. 

Remember earlier when I’d said that I don’t dream? That fact—despite being previously irrelevant—is  _ just  _ about to come into play. 99% of the time, my dreams are stark and inky blackness—an empty abyss, filled to the brim with an extraordinary amount of  _ nothing.  _ This time is different. When my brain finally allows sleep to overtake me, it becomes apparent—tonight is the 1%. Tonight is a night where I  _ dream.  _

Waking up—at least I _think_ that’s what just happened—in a forest with blades of grass littering my dark hair is, quite honestly, even _more_ out of place than what even _I’d_ consider unusual. Maybe this time was 1% of a 1%. A 0.01%. 

One small attempt at sitting up later, and it was quickly realized that I’d arrived here— _ wherever _ it is that I am—with a knot unwelcomingly formed in my back from waking up on the hard earthy ground.

Actually, no—not earthy. Earthy was the wrong way to go about describing the setting. Wherever I am, it’s  _ not  _ Earth. The grass and trees are so  _ green,  _ so  _ beautiful _ , that they look like they came straight out of the pages of a fairy tale. They looked fake, almost—like those plastic houseplants that people get because they’re too lazy to water  _ actual  _ plants. The trees are so incredibly tall, that when I look up I can’t even see the tops. Their trunks seemed to stretch endlessly up into the blue,  _ blue  _ sky, fading away into the atmosphere. 

Biting my lip in response to the slowly-dulling pain in my back, I find myself standing up, further taking in my surroundings. Nothing felt real anymore—not even myself. 

Once I’d taken a good twenty minutes or so absorbing the view of the flora—far too beautiful to be natural—, It dawned on me that I wasn’t wearing my clothes. I was in clothes and all, but still, they weren’t _ my _ clothes. I was wearing a puffy shirt, like a pirate. Damn it—what are those called again? A Poet shirt, maybe. I’m not sure. Over the poet shirt, I had a deep purple vest.  _ Dear God _ , I think, I don’t want this dream to  _ ever  _ end if  _ this _ is what I get to wear. I absolutely  _ love _ Victorian fashion.   
         Minutes turn to hours as I eventually find myself wandering, exploring every inch, nook, and cranny of this new land before it finally hit me—I’d  _ completely _ lost track of time. No matter how wonderfully breathtaking this forest may appear to be, my sudden revelation brought my attention back to the inevitable. Something here was different. This felt too unreal. This felt too  _ real.  _

I spent the next, god even knows  _ how  _ long, looking for something, someone,  _ anything  _ to answer my questions. Where am I? Why am I here? Is there anybody else, or am I all alone. So far, there had been nothing but trees and nature. As I continued on my walk, I noticed that there weren’t even any  _ animals _ , let alone  _ people.  _ What kind of place  _ is _ this?

Finally, I saw it—or, more accurately, felt it—a town way off in the distance. The buzzing of people and things and  _ life  _ made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. The livelihood of it draws me in, like the inside of a Venus flytrap. Hopefully, the city would exclude the whole  _ chomp down on the fly and dissolve him  _ aspect of a Venus flytrap. I don’t really feel like being a fly. 

Apparently, I had been even lonelier than I had originally thought, as I found myself taking an immediate sprint, right in the direction of the city.

No matter how fast I would run, the town never seemed to get even so much as an  _ inch  _ closer. What was this, some cruel joke? A mirage? I kept pushing myself to run faster, faster,  _ faster.  _ A stitch was already forming in my side, a sharp, stabbing pain accompanying each and every movement. I couldn’t bring myself to care. I ran until my legs gave out, not stopping until I physically couldn’t run any longer. Collapsed into a sweaty lump on the ground, I desperately wheezed for air, my breathing sounding more like erratic, ragged, pants and heaves than it did actual breaths.

Suddenly, my attention was yanked away from my own personal gym class hell, to the small voice that had just called my name. Wait—did I hear that right? Why would anyone call my name, let alone  _ know  _ it? It was clearly a child’s voice, high pitched and squeaky, but when I looked around there was no one to be seen. 

Isn’t that just  _ great _ ? Absolutely great! Now, on top of everything else, I’m hearing voices, too. With much more effort than it should’ve taken, I stand up, all my muscles suddenly becoming a bunch of banshees and wolves, screaming and howling in painful protest from my movement, even one as subtle and familiar as  _ standing _ . On the bright side, I  _ was  _ able to breathe again. 

“Toby,” the voice repeated, not losing an ounce of patience. I stood up on my toes, as if the extra few inches would make  _ any  _ difference whatsoever, and craned my neck to see if I could catch a glimpse at the child trying to speak with me. That, and to serve as a last-ditch attempt to figure out what the  _ hell  _ is going on. To my surprise,  _ this _ time, my eyes  _ did  _ catch sight of something. I’m fact, they caught sight of  _ exactly  _ what I had been looking for, at that. 

There was a young boy in front of me. He looked young, poorly dressed—like he had dressed himself, and even a bit scraggly. Still, he had the face of a wide-eyed puppy. I should at  _ least  _ stop and listen to what he has to say. Maybe I could figure out where the hell he came from. I opened my mouth to ask the boy a question—the same question I had been wondering about for who even  _ knows  _ how long. 

“Where am I?” I blinked a few times, in a confused daze—the physical exhaustion must be catching up to me. 

“You’re in Orrinbyrde, sir.” 

Sir? I’d never been called that before, but I suppose anything can happen in a dream. Speaking of which, where is—no,  _ what  _ is Orrinbyrde? 

“Evren is in down further in the town. Have you seen Olive?” the boy continued, eagerly grabbing my wrist in his own tiny hand and shooting me a grin that was missing a notable amount of teeth, before dragging me off in the direction of the town. 

I had so many questions. How was  _ he _ able to get closer to the town? Who are Evren and Olive? Was I meant to  _ know _ these people? I’m much better with faces than I am with names. Maybe I  _ do  _ know them, and my brain is just doing that thing again—the thing where I can’t put a face to a name for the _ life  _ of me. 

The little boy leads me to the city, telling me all about what I had supposedly missed while we were away.  _ We?  _ Who’s  _ we? _ Maybe he means these Evren and Olive people.

The boy, wrongfully assuming that I had the slightest clue what he was talking about, continued on his speech, telling me stories of the monsters that wrongfully entered the city—they sounded like they had been taken right from a storybook. He told me about how they were supposed to stay tucked away in the Ruins. 

I don’t want to let the kid down, but there comes a point where it would just be cruel not to. I have to be brutally honest about this—I have absolutely no idea about what the boy seemingly expected me to understand. Maybe he simply had me confused with someone else. Yeah, that was probably the case. I told him this, but he brushed me off as if he knew better. I mean, he probably  _ did,  _ but  _ still... _

“No, that can’t be true. You’re exactly as my grandmother said you would be. She told me all about how the three of you have visited here before, and even about the time when you saved  _ her _ grandmother the  _ last _ time you were here,” the boy explained. 

There it is—the peak of my confusion. There’s no  _ way  _ I’ve been here before, this is a dream. Besides, I’d remember if I had already been here—it’s not really a place that anyone could just  _ forget,  _ right..? Clearly, the boy had no intention of letting up, so I did the one thing I could think to do—go along with it. I might as well get some of my burning questions answered. 

“Do you have any idea why we would we were called here?” The boy was little, so even if I _myself_ was fairly short, I still have to look down at him when I ask him this. It hurts. My whole _body_ hurts—all cramped from waking up on the ground. It feels like I crash landed here, and woke up from a blunt force trauma-induced coma, rather than an unfortunately located nap. 

“Nihasa has returned. He plans to destroy us all,” the boy answers. “You’re going to stop him, right?” He was looking at me with way too much hope in his eyes—hope in the wrong person. I’m going to let him down one way or another, but I decided to let him hold onto that hope for a bit longer and continue to go along with what he tells me. I decide that I’m going to least try to save their world. I’ve got nothing better to do, and how was I possibly meant to tell him no? 

Nihasa. I make a mental note to remember that name. I have to, I think. It sounds important.  _ Nihasa… _

The boy, with his strangely held ability that I seem to lack—being able to approach the city—leads me through the winding stone alleyways of the town. 

It’s very  _ gray _ , to say the least. Smokestacks and dark clouds paint the sky and hide the sun in a joint effort—not that I mind, I’m  _ very  _ pale, and I burn  _ unbelievably _ easy. The people here are dressed in a very Victorian-esque fashion, but in a way that was uncanny. It didn’t seem to match up completely. More accurately, it seemed to be a mesh of both Victorian and contemporary. It was a bit like that whole  _ steampunk  _ thing. 

As we moved inward from the outer city, it was pretty clear that the residents were a bit more affluent. Houses and buildings shifted from being constructed with wood to being made of brick and stone—a bit easier on the eyes. The smoke, however, only thickened.

“You should buy an umbrella when you get the chance, you know,” the boy said. “It’s almost always raining here.” Yes, I think. This is  _ exactly  _ the kind of place that would be perpetually rainy. 

We walked through the city, trying our best to stay under each awning that came into view to avoid getting wet until we finally came to a stop. 

Our destination appeared to be a saloon-style building. I’d be willing to bet that it’s a saloon. As we made our way up to the building, the boy stopped and pointed, directing my attention forward to the drunken, obnoxious atmosphere that seemed to be radiating out from the saloon. It was so loud that it could be heard clear as day, all the way through the walls, penetrating them like a hot knife through warm butter. 

“I heard Evren was in here, but I’m too young to go in there,” the boy began to explain. “I can’t take you directly to him, you’ll have to find him yourself.” The boy looked up at me for a sign of acknowledgment. I gave him a quick nod before I watched him run off. I wonder if I’ll ever see him again. 

This whole thing is starting to feel absurdly like a plot to a book. Walking into the saloon, I looked around. How was I supposed to have the slightest clue who Evren even  _ was?  _ I knew nothing about him. What’s his character? How does he act? What does he look like? In retrospect, those  _ may _ have been questions that I probably should’ve asked the kid while I still had the chance. He had just left so  _ suddenly _ . All of this felt that way—all too sudden.

Well  _ shit _ , I think to myself. I’m an idiot but I’ll figure it out  _ eventually _ . Everyone—every _ thing _ is so loud. I can hear the ragtime piano. It didn’t, however, manage to impair my vision. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a man looking directly at me, elbowing his friend in the side before pointing me out to him. 

My heart was racing. I could physically  _ feel  _ my anxiety skyrocketing. My fight or flight turned on. Flight it is, I guess. In a few quick paces, I made my way over to the bar in the back of the saloon. I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m not even old enough to drink, but I had nowhere else to go. I guess it’s time to use what I’ve learned from playing video games—not so useless after all, I suppose. 

Word must’ve spread quickly because the saloon suddenly got quiet, silence spread across the room like wildfire. Even the  _ pianist _ halted his playing. I tried to act like nothing was going on—like the world around me wasn’t just about to put me over the edge. Maybe if I just ignore them, they’ll get bored and go away, directing their attention to more pressing issues. 

Of course, with my luck, that isn’t even close to what happened. I felt a hand grasp my shoulder in a firm grip. As a martial artist who also just so happens to be paranoid as hell, I followed my first instinct. Grabbing the mystery hand by the meaty part found just under the little finger, I twisted it towards the thumb, putting whoever thought it was a good idea to lay a hand on me into a wrist lock. I got a look at my mystery assailant. He was practically laying on the floor, something I recognized as a futile attempt to get some of the pressure off his wrist. The man’s face contorted in both in surprise and in pain.

“Ah! Let go, man. I give,” he said using his free hand to hit the ground like he was tapping out. A flare for the dramatics, I see. I (begrudgingly) let him go, stepping back, and allowing him to stand. He was tall—well, taller than me, that is. That’s not exactly saying too much since I’m only 5’3.75 (Yes, the three-quarters of an inch count!). He had dark, thick brown hair that was styled in an undercut. The top part of his hair swooped across his face. On anyone else, it would’ve looked edgy. On him, it seemed to have a completely different effect—one that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. 

The man huffed indignantly, fixing his frock coat and cravat. He acted so proper, that it was honestly kind of annoying. That’s not even the worst part. The worst part was he clearly  _ wasn’t  _ proper, yet still had the nerve to act so high and mighty. His bright blue tie wasn’t even tied, yet there he is, trying to act all sophisticated nonetheless. What a joke.

“I’m Evren,” He introduced himself, sporting a lopsided grin like I  _ hadn’t  _ just brought him to the ground. I folded my arms over my chest in response. I felt the urge to say something snarky about him sneaking up on me, but the right words appeared to be avoiding me. I finally settled with trying my best to look intimidating—as intimidating as a 5’3 person  _ could,  _ that is. 

“And  _ you _ must be the Demon Barber of Fleet Street” Evren continued, brushing off my attempted rudeness, clearing his throat as he did so. I stayed quiet for a little longer. I really,  _ really  _ wanted to think up some witty, sarcastic comeback for this guy, but for whatever reason, I simply could not think of one. Then—it hit me. His  _ tie.  _

“At least my tie is tied,” I said with an attitude, raising my chin up in faux confidence. Yeah, great one, Toby.  _ That’ll _ show him.

Evren’s cheeks reddened the slightest bit. Did I take it too far? “I, um, I don’t know how to tie one of these... I can barely do a Windsor knot,” Evren explained, sheepishly. I sighed and reached for the ends on Evren’s tie. 

“It’s easy,” I retort. I guess I’m still a bit spiteful. I’m not even sure  _ why.  _ I think it’s rooted in my own anxiety, and this is just how it chooses to reveal itself. “Anyone who says otherwise is either just lame, or they weren’t taught right.” I worked on tying the cravat as I spoke to him. “This isn’t your traditional necktie, however, so it has to be tied differently. First, you have to make sure that the ends are even, and cross the right over left. Then the right comes around, like this,” I say, drawing out the  _ this  _ as I demonstrate. “The left then comes over like  _ this _ and the right comes down and through. There.” I made sure to act out each step as I dictated it. It probably seemed like I was trying to be informative—I  _ was,  _ but that’s not completely it. It was actually more along the lines of thinking aloud. I had a tendency to do that sometimes. Not that it matters anyway—Evren’s cravat is tied neatly and perfectly into an ascot knot.

“That doesn’t sound easy at  _ all… _ but thanks anyway, honey,” Evren cooed, even going so far as to throw in a wink. He was acting like some overused comedy show cliche—the one with the useless husband who needs his wife’s help for every little thing. I rolled my eyes, reinforcing the intent the eye roll with a scoff. If anything,  _ he’d  _ be the wife.

I was about to say something else, but some other force of the universe seemed to have other plans, cutting off my words right as I had opened my mouth to speak. It was a bright light—the kind of light you’re supposed to see right before you die (was that it? Am I dying?)—and everything began to brighten, all of the color beginning to fade in a harsh, blinding white. I blinked a few times—maybe there’s something wrong with my vision. The attempt was still to no avail, as nothing changed. 

Just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. I woke up (for real this time), in my room, more confused than I had ever been in my entire life. What just happened to me? 

All too clearly, I remembered everything that happened in that dream. I might not dream more than once in a blue moon, but I still know that dreams aren’t supposed to feel like  _ that.  _ It felt like it  _ actually _ happened, and the feeling never ceased to fade, even with my rapidly growing consciousness. Was it really just a dream? Is that even possible? The next thing I know, I’m yanking my journal from its spot on my bedside table. I need to write this down.

  
  



	2. Evren

I avert my gaze up to the small numbers at the top of my phone. It’s 11:45 PM—almost midnight. It’s pretty late, and I should probably get some sleep so I’m not as tired in the morning. I yawn, crawling into my bed and under the covers. I’m just about to close my eyes when I felt something jump onto my bed, curling up on my legs.

Luckily, it was just my cat, Shady. I would die for Shady. I let out a sigh of relief. I’m glad I took him with me when I moved out of my parents’ house. He had been my responsibility to care for, anyway.

I eventually manage to quell the thoughts that were racing through my mind. I take this opportunity—a peaceful moment—and let myself drift off into sleep.

Haha, yeah, no. I didn’t calm down at all (could you imagine?), and continued overthinking and just plain thinking about quite literally anything and everything until I passed out.

When I woke up, I was most definitely not in my bed. Instead, I was in a strange forest. Was this a lucid dream? I immediately try to give myself a third arm. 

Unfortunately, it didn’t work. Maybe I’m not lucid dreaming, but if I’m not lucid dreaming, then what is this?

Not that any of that mattered—what did matter, however, was the most breathtaking view I had ever seen surrounding me. It looked like something out of a fantasy movie. I found myself right in the middle of a work of art—drowning in it.

There were trees as tall as—maybe even taller than— those in the Redwood Forest. Red toadstools decorated the base of a couple nearby trees. I wonder what would happen if I ate one. I probably don’t want to find out (yes I do).

Weird animals soared above me, dominating the crystal clear skies. They looked a bit like dragons. I’ve had some pretty cool dreams before, but this one was off the charts. This was one that I found myself really not wanting to wake up from.

My previously held opinion on not wanting to wake up was multiplied tenfold once I had looked down and noticed my clothes.  I was dressed head to toe in a Victorian style outfit. I had a tailed coat and everything! I wonder if I can try again to  _ make _ this a lucid dream? I didn’t try that hard last time. I wonder if—hold that thought. Did someone just call my name?

It appears that someone did. My attention was yanked away from the beautiful landscape when I heard a voice call my name once again. They were definitely saying Evren.

I made a quick turn, counterclockwise, only to find a young woman. By the looks of her, I would guess she was probably just around my age. She wore a black dress—like if a southern belle style dress had married and had children with the inside of a Hot Topic—with a lacy parasol to match. Her hair was in black curls that were swept over one shoulder. She kind of looked like Morticia Addams, if I’m being honest. Not that it was a bad thing! She was beautiful!

“Evren? Did you hear what I said?“ Oh, was she talking to me? I didn’t know what to say without making a fool out of myself. I had been so focused on the fact that she looks like gothic icon Morticia Addams that I wasn’t listening.

“It’s quite alright,” she continued, obviously taking my silence as an answer. “I’ll fill you in on everything you’ve missed while we’re on our way to Orrinbyrde City,” she said with a soft chuckle. Wait—Everything I missed? What does that mean? This is my first time here. Right..?

“Everything I missed?” I questioned. The woman nodded.

“You have been gone for over a century,” she replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“A century?” I shook my head. “That’s not possible. I’m only 19, and this is the first time I’ve ever even seen this place.”

“You said the same thing last time too,” she mused. “I won’t claim to have the answers to all your questions, but I may just have a few if it’s any help.” She paused for a moment before continuing once more, picking up right where she left off and speaking to me with each step as the two of us walked together to wherever it was that she said she was taking me.

“Thinking back on history lessons, maybe you don’t remember being here because Nihasa killed you last time,” the woman explained. Wait, what? I died? What the shit kind of dream even is this?

I followed the woman all the way into a city. Luckily, the walk hadn’t been too far. The city was big and a bit chaotic, as cities usually are. I tried to keep up with the woman while also trying to focus on not walking into people. The city was more populated than I would’ve expected.

All at once, I had both following the woman, not running into people, and a third task—taking everything in that I possibly could.

Everything was built in the most beautiful Victorian architecture that I had really only ever seen in low-quality photographs. I’m from a small town in New Jersey, I don’t experience cities too often, let alone historic ones. This is so cool, I think I’m about to bust a nut.

The woman leads me to a tall building—a saloon. It had to be the most vivacious place that I had yet to see here. It teetered on the edge of being too much, but it was balanced out by the comforting warm glow it casts down on the cold-toned grays of the stone walkways of the city. The liveliness of the saloon—perhaps too much on its own, did wonders on the atmosphere of the rainy, dull surroundings. The people inside were cheerful—opposed to the monotonous ones getting from one place to another under their grayscale umbrellas and misused parasols. The feelings of the saloon diluted into the rest of the surrounding city, giving it a comforting feeling—like the sun on the earth. Get too close to the sun and you’ll burn up, but without the sun, the earth would be cold—covered in ice and unable to sustain life.

Sure, the loud, carefree atmosphere wasn’t my favorite thing, but as long as I wasn’t going to be the center of attention, I’m sure that I’ll be just fine. 

The second that that train of the thought had graced my mind, the room had just about instantaneously gone dead silent. Oh, great. I jinxed it, didn’t I! Just my luck. Looking around the room, I was met with a startling sight glaring back at me. Without even an ounce of hyperbole, everyone was staring at me. So much for not being the center of attention. My mind buzzed with a billion different questions. Did I do something wrong? Was my outfit messed up?

I felt my chest, my fingertips searching my torso in a fruitless attempt to seek out the imperfection. My finger getting caught on my tie, untucking it from my waistcoat. Shit. I had just been started in the process of tucking it back into my shirt, but the process was halted. The woman had grabbed my attention once more. Oh yeah, she’s here too! 

“The heroes are returning!” she called out, breaking the silence. Thank god. The woman was met with scattered murmurs that slowly started to fill the room. “Evren has come back to us!” The woman gestured to my clumsy self as I was a bit preoccupied with fumbling with my tie. I was doing the opposite of progress. So far in my attempts, I had somehow managed to untie it completely. I immediately stopped what I was doing—frozen like a deer in headlights—to give a shy wave. The woman, still motioning towards me with her hands—weird, slightly knobby, lanky hands. The smile that graced her face was contrasted by a dull, tired look that was swimming in her eyes, giving off the impression of being fake-cheerful. Some people aren’t too expressive, I guess. She wasn’t being fake—I knew that much. She had been really nice to me so far. What I didn’t understand, however, was the air of pride she seemed to be portraying. Pride in what? Me? 

The building, quiet for one last brief moment— a brief moment that felt painfully long—burst, all of a sudden into a loud, ear-splitting cheer. It was like a happy-bomb just went off. As nervous as I was, I felt myself smile a bit, too.   
Oh, okay. That’s fine. This is fine. It’s cool. It’s all good. Was there a name for the emotion I was feeling? Was it that one picture of the funny looking dog in the yellow vest that read ‘NERVOUS’? Yeah, that was probably it. I wonder how he’s doing. Is he doing okay? Is he still nervous? He seemed like a good dog—I hope he’s not still nervous.

Damn, I think, the interjection pulling me away from my concern for the ‘NERVOUS’ dog. If only I got this kind of attention when I was awake! In my head, I chuckled softly to myself at the thought, albeit out loud, it probably sounded more like a soft-but-still-strained “hnngh.” Mmm yes perfect.

Time passed—I’m not even sure how much—but before I knew it, I found myself alone with my messed up tie once the hubbub had died down. Stupid tie. Taking a seat on a stool by the bar, I persisted in my unavailing fumbling with the tie—or whatever it was supposed to be—that was around my neck. It’s not like I minded the being left alone thing—it’s a bit of a relief, actually. It gives it time for he and I to settle this. Settle this like men. Me Vs. The Tie. The Tie vs. Me. 

It didn’t look like an ordinary necktie. Both ends gradually got wider the further down they went. I gave it a few more frustrated attempts before I called it quits. There goes my last measly shred of hope to tie this thing—my tie-related self-esteem dying right along with it. I can barely tie a basic Windsor knot, let alone whatever this thing is. At least it gives me something to keep my hands busy with. 

As I’ve said before, I don’t know how much time passed. Since then, I, once again, have no idea what time it was. What a funky little trend. I had been too focused on fixing (fighting to the death with) my tie to care. What I did notice, however, was the sudden talk about a little boy who supposedly found Toby in the forest. Toby, huh? Wasn’t he one of the people that woman mentioned? I mean, how else would I recognize the name. Maybe he would have an idea of what’s going on. I’ll have to talk to him.

I waited a bit longer for this Toby guy to make an appearance. Out of sheer boredom, I eventually found myself wandering aimlessly around in the saloon. The mission that I had set form self from earlier today—to learn everything about this place that I possibly can—had not been set aside. One of the first things that I learned, was that here, I was old enough to drink. Not because I wanted to, but a few people had given me the offer and then proceeded to explain the whole drinking age spiel when I would tell them about how I wasn’t old enough. It’s strange here—almost like this place was stuck in the 19th century.

My attention was yanked from the thoughts in my head once more when the saloon got quiet again. The silence was deafening. I bet that I could hear a pin drop, but like, for real. Not even in the figure of speech way. 

Looking around in an agog endeavor to sniff out the cause of the sudden quietude, my eyes settled on a young man had walked in. He had dark hair streaked with a light blue. It was thick, especially on the top of his head, where it was a bit longer. The sides were too short to have any noticeable curls, but you could still kinda see its waves. A couple curled locks fell, framing his face in a way that was rather charming. Some of the hair—hair that I could only guess has a rightful place styled up elegantly—tumbled down a bit more loosely than what I assume was to his liking. I liked it, though. He looked sorta bedraggled—like some outside force had left him all disheveled. It was kind of like my own hair, but a styled a little bit gayer. That and my own hair was straight.

Everyone had their eyes set on the new guy, and they were looking at him the same way they had also been looking at me when I had first walked in. Gazes, even a few glares (wait, glares? Did that mean people were glaring at me too? Yikes), were locked on the man with much more intensity than the average person would be able to find normal.

The guy who I could only assume to be Toby seemed to fall into that average person box. He was visibly tensed. He had his fists clenched white-knuckled at his sides, his jaw moving subtly side to side—he’s grinding his teeth.

This  _ was _ Toby, right? Shyness and anxiety were mirrored on his face exactly the way they were etched into mine when I had been in his place. I didn’t miss the way he was scratching at the back of his hand—a nervous habit, I bet.

He quickly made his way over to the bar, right in my direction. Did he see me? Did he recognize me, even? Apparently not—he didn’t seem to notice me in the slightest. I went to introduce myself. It’s time I figured out what was going on, and Toby is going to be my biggest clue yet

The second my hand so much as brushed his shoulder, everything went by in a quick, confusing blur of motion and something else—pain? Wrist pain? Did this guy just bite me? Probably not—that’s stupid. And weird. If this guy bites people, we're going to have some serious issues to deal with. You’re supposed to know not to bite strangers in preschool. You shouldn’t chomp on friends either, for that matter.

I couldn’t really tell what had just happened. One second I’m tapping this guy’s shoulder, and in the next, I’m face down on the ground with a sharp pain in my wrist. Who is this guy, and what the hell does he think he’s doing?

“Ah! I give, let go man!” I cried out, intense discomfort throughout my arm. My first reaction was to tap out. I’ve seen some self-defense tutorials on YouTube, and that’s what they did if they wanted to get out of the hold. Granted, this wasn’t self-defense, but maybe it’ll let him know that he can stop trying to show off.

He let go of my wrist and I lifted myself to my feet, straightening out my clothes excluding my tie of course. Stupid tie. The man folded his arms over his chest. I cleared my throat before speaking.

“I’m Evren,” I introduced, unsure of what else to say. When the man didn’t respond, I tried to lighten the atmosphere between us, mainly because it looked like he was glaring at me. I know that he probably thinks I tried to sneak up on him, but damn. Talk about petty. I narrowed my eyes at him. My intention was to let him know that I don’t appreciate his attitude, but it probably just ended up looking like I got something in my eye. I probably did. The floor of the saloon was pretty dirty—I bet it hadn’t seen a broom in months.

“And you must be the Demon Barber of Fleet Street,” I teased, unintentionally tacking on a nervous laugh. My gaze flitted around, landing on a bunch of different points of the man’s face, searching for some kind of reaction. Even if he didn’t think so, I thought my joke was funny. I mean, his outfit did kinda look like Sweeney Todd. What was with all these iconic characters in this dream? Was this some sort of weird, gothic, semi-lucid sex dream? His eyes darted around, as I stood there silently before he finally responded.

“At least my tie is tied,” he finally remarked. My mind went back, thoughts racing through the events of the past hour or so (I can really only guess on the whole time predicament). Finally, striking a landing, my brain flashbacked to the embarrassing fumbling I had done with the tie—the state of the stubborn, downright unfixable cloth only getting worse the more I tried to fix it—before it had become completely undone. I felt the heat rise to my face.

“I, um, I don’t know how to tie one of these… I can barely tie a Windsor knot,” I admitted a bit sheepishly... A sigh left his lips as he reached for the bright blue tie that hung around my neck. Was the sigh really necessary? Really? He was being over the top and melodramatic, honestly. From the sound of it, the other people in the saloon probably thought my tie had personally stabbed the guy.

“It’s easy,” he explained, “anyone who says otherwise is lame or wasn’t taught right.” He spoke aloud as he tied it, dictating his actions.

“This isn’t your traditional necktie, however, so it has to be tied differently. First, you have to make sure that the ends are even, and cross the right over left. Then the right comes around, like this,” he spoke, his fingers working magic on the blue fabric as he tied the tie, “The left then comes over like this and the right comes down and through. There.” His voice got the slightest bit louder at the 'there', and his eyes widened the slightest bit—probably out of smugness—before he let go of the tie, revealing its newly knitted state, fashioned into some sort of fancy knot that I didn’t even recognize. I huffed—not out of malice—more out of (begrudging) admiration. An admiration that was strictly directed at the tie, and not the smug twink. Who knew there was more than one way to tie a tie! Aside from the twink. The twink doesn’t count.

As soon as I tucked my tie back into my waistcoat, everything started to go white. I bet it’s because of the tie. The universe couldn’t handle me looking this good. It was too much—I understand completely. I can hardly handle me either. I watched as the white light gained intensity, color fading from the clothes, making them look like they’d had one too many trips to the washing machine. The dirty floorboard of the saloon faded, looking more and more sun-bleached, before practically fading from existence. The chatter the once surrounded me, filling my ears and overwhelm my mind, faded into nothing.

My eyes darted around looking for the cause of the creeping emptiness. Is this what it’s like to go blind? I had just started a new train of thought about the sense of sight for a blind man before the metaphorical train stopped. Everything stopped, for that matter.

I’d always wondered what nothing would look like. Surely, there’s no such thing as nothing. There’s always air or space, or even something in the concept of nothingness in its own right. Even nothing was something, right? Every time the thought graced my mind instead of sleep, I’d usually come to the conclusion that nothing would be empty blackness—like a black hole, or a void—an empty abyss. As it turns out, nothing doesn’t actually look black. Everything around me is a blinding shade of white, but that’s wrong too. Nothing doesn’t look white, either. Nothing isn’t a sight. Nothing, as it turns out, isn’t something you could see. No, nothing is a feeling. It’s a lack of concept—a lack of thought, of sense of self, of anything and everything.  _ Nothing _ absorbs the world around it.  _ Nothing _ rids its surroundings of everything—rids it of matter, of energy, of thought or idea or feeling—in a way I couldn’t hope to even understand, let alone explain. For the briefest of moments, I didn’t know who I was. I didn’t know anything. I didn’t know.

Without even a trillionth of a second—no time whatsoever to ease the transition—I woke up. Sunlight crept its way through the windows of my bedroom, landing in my eyes. It must be morning.

The light here felt different than the way the light felt when I was there. What the hell even was that? I still had yet to shake the empty feeling. I feel like I’m about to puke.

More importantly than that, Shady had left my room during the night. Is this what abandonment feels like? I’ve never felt more alone.

  
  



	3. Toby

The cycle repeated itself night after night after night—it was like some sort of broken record. Every time I would finally manage to get some sleep, I would wake up in Orrinbyrde.  _ Again.  _

I tried everything I could to see if I could get myself to go back to my old habit of not dreaming. Ever since I started showing up in Orrinbyrde, my dreamless nights felt more like an increasingly distant memory.

Not that I didn’t want to go there or anything (the call for adventure has, admittedly, started to grow on me), but I wanted—no, I  _ needed _ —to know what I had been doing differently as of recently that I had been doing for the last  _ who-knows-how-many _ years of my life. Why me? Why Evren? Was there a way to control it? If there was, I haven’t found it yet.

After  _ that _ phase in my desperate attempt to figure out what the hell is going on, I tried to research the second most suspicious things about this place—Evren. You know, aside from the whole ‘Orrinbyrde’ situation in its very own right. 

When I was awake in what I like to call ‘the real world,’ I spent a decent chunk of time searching all over a bunch of different social media networks and found nothing. I looked on Instagram, Tumblr, and even  _ MySpace.  _ Nothing. Granted, I had no information to go off of, aside from his name. Evren wasn’t the most popular name, so I guess I figured that perhaps his social media accounts might have a trace of his name somewhere. No such luck. 

Informationless and even more confused than usual, I’d still find myself in Orrinbyrde each night (or should I say each morning). Most of the time, Evren would be there waiting for me. On every instance where it was the two of us finding ourselves together, he had  _ always _ managed to get to Orrinbyrde before me. He probably goes to sleep at a normal time. A time for people who, unlike myself,  _ aren’t _ nocturnal. I’m probably more awake during the night than I am during the day. I go to bed late and then wake up halfway through the afternoon to make up for it.

Believe it or not, Orrinbyrde was a bit more boring than one would expect. There just wasn’t much that needed to be done. Specifically, because damn near everyone we decide to talk to has told us (over and over and over) about how we can’t fulfill our  _ real  _ mission without Olive. On top of that, they couldn’t even be bothered to let us help them with  _ anything _ without her, even simple tasks. One lady, who was old enough that she had to use a walker, turned us down after we offered to help, having just witnessed a man grab her purse and run off. “It’s important that you work as a team,” she had said. 

If you ask me if this Olive person was  _ really  _ so important, why wasn’t she out trying to find  _ us?  _ Why were  _ we  _ the ones busting _ our  _ asses trying to find her own elusive self? 

_ Jeez _ , I think. I know repeating yourself is annoying.  _ Everyone  _ knows repeating yourself is annoying. There is, however, a point where it becomes downright unbearable. So, if it’s annoying for me to constantly and repeatedly question who the hell— _ where  _ the hell Olive is, then I’d suggest a  _ long  _ walk in  _ my  _ shoes—the sounds of us being told how vital it is to the mission that we find Olive being so painfully constant, that my eardrums are practically weeping. 

At this point, the whole world is going to be destroyed before we found Olive. I wonder if she’s facing the same struggle as we are. Or,  _ maybe,  _ she  _ knows  _ that we’re looking for us and is just saving herself the energy. 

After what felt like eons of searching, after Evren and I had once again found the both of ourselves in Orrinbyrde together night after night after  _ night _ , we  _ finally _ got the first piece of information regarding Olive that was actually useful. For the first time, we were tipped off on an actual clue, rather than just another long tirade about how useless we are when it’s just the two of us. 

Some woman had informed us that perhaps the reason we couldn’t seem to find Olive anywhere in the city, was because maybe she was just lost in the Ruins. It makes a lot of sense, and it actually gives us a place to start. Nonetheless, I’m still sticking with my previous story—the one where Olive knows full well that we’re looking for her, and is waiting for us to come to her instead of meeting us halfway. 

The usefulness and insight in the clue left a burning question lingering in the back of my mind, however. Who exactly _was_ this woman, and how did she even _know_ all this? 

Surprisingly enough, Evren actually seemed to know the woman. I wonder where the two of them had met. The woman had introduced herself as Victoria. How did I not know about this? What exactly was Evren getting up to when he was here and I wasn’t? Time passes differently in Orrinbyrde—I know this. 

Four or five hours of Evren sleeping and me being awake could give him  _ lots  _ of time to sneak around. I mean, why  _ else  _ would he keep something like this from me? How do I know I can even trust him, aside from the people around me constantly hammering the thought into my head. Is this who I am now? Letting other people make my decisions for me? 

I can see that Evren is a suspicious character from the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not looking. He always looks like he’s–, I don’t know,  _ studying _ me. When I turn to look at him back, his face reddens, obviously flustered from being caught. I’ve got to keep my eye out for this one. There’s just no way of knowing what he’s thinking. On that note, I’ll probably have to watch my back for ‘Olive’ too. If that’s even her real name.

Even if Evren might be suspicious,  _ even  _ if he might be keeping secrets from me, I think it’s best to work together—at least for now. At least until I can trust him more. Evren and I make it our quest to find Olive. It, needless to say, hasn’t exactly been going in our favor. We hardly even knew where to  _ start _ for Christ's sake!  _ Ugh _ , this is going to take forever.  _ Forever  _ not even being in the hyperbolic sense!

Victoria gave us directions on how to get out of the city and into the Ruins. It was simple enough. Simple  _ directions _ , that is. The distance we had to walk was a bit less than just simple. As wary as I was about him, Evren was sometimes bearable. Sometimes. He would talk about his interests—his hazel eyes sparkling with excitement and passion, framed by long eyelashes and dark eyebrows. Sometimes, when he would mention a particular interest of his, it would match up with an interest of mine. At times like that, it was hard to quell the excitement that built up inside me. I couldn’t reveal too much about myself to him. Not now. Not  _ yet.  _

Only about 5 wrong turns and 4 different arguments later, Evren and I found our way into a barren landscape. So this must be the Ruins. Its name definitely rang true to its appearance. 

Everything was so depressing, to say the least. I used to think that Orrinbyrde City was gray. Now that I’ve gained some perspective, the city seems like the warmest, happiest place in the world. Here, the gray wasn’t just gray in the color sense.  _ Here  _ it was gray as if all the colors had been stolen, never to be seen again. It was painfully dull. The whole atmosphere of this place was that of an old rusty butter knife. It almost felt like walking into a haunted house—dread filling the air, making the hairs on the backs of our necks stand up, and our fight or flight senses at the ready prepared to be unleashed at even the slightest sign of danger. We could physically  _ feel _ the loss and despair immured by the lands. The atmosphere was as monotonous as the sky was gray. What happened here? 

Whatever it was, the Ruins were haunted. Not haunted as in ghosts—haunted as in the memories of whatever horrific event must’ve happened here had imprinted themselves into the ground beneath our feet. The Ruins were sucking the life out of everything around them. There were no flowers, no animals, and not a tree nor a single blade of grass was alive. How long before the Ruins suck the life from Evren and me? 

The running silence between the two of us began to grow more and more painful the longer the two of us walked. The lack of words was practically clouding around us, thickening the longer the silence lingered. Minute after minute, the clouds of awkward quietness had thickened to a point that was almost too much to bear. _Almost_ too much. 

Finally, Evren decided to break it. I felt myself letting loose a breath of relief as the running tension in the room began to dissipate. I could practically hear my social awkwardness whispering a soft  _ thank you.  _

My subconscious gratefulness, however, was not long lived. His words, for  _ some  _ unknown reason, thought that it would be a good idea to form a sentence, and I finally remembered who exactly it was that I’m talking to.

“So, Tobster can I call you Tobster?” I heard his voice coming from the direction of my left. The only thing that could’ve possibly made my mood drop any faster would be finding out that my parents were here. Of course, of  _ all  _ things he could’ve asked, he decides to try to act all buddy-buddy with me. I think he’s  _ trying  _ to talk down to me—to belittle me in a subtle fashion as if there weren’t any other more  _ pressing  _ matters at hand. I’m probably just being paranoid. Maybe it’s just the stress getting me wound up a bit too tight. 

Do I have a stick up my ass? Yeah. Regardless, this Evren guy is still going to be an even  _ bigger _ pain in my ass, isn’t he? Is he doing this on purpose? Whatever the reason, I’m getting fed up. 

“I’d rather you didn’t,” I answered, honestly. Too honestly, probably, for the standards of most people. 

“Right,” Evren answered, his eyes flitting quickly to his left and then back again like he was contemplating how to respond to my too-snippy retort. 

“Anyway,  _ Tobster _ ,” he continued, drawing out my name as he spoke, “Do you do karate or something? I mean, that one time you almost broke my wrist?” Evren let out a small chuckle as he spoke. He was  _ still  _ trying to lighten the mood, wasn’t he? “It probably would’ve been  _ really _ cool if it didn’t hurt,” Evren remarked, finishing his thought with a lopsided smile. 

“I train in Tang Soo Do,” I deadpanned. I could hear Evren repeating the name back to himself under his breath in a soft mutter. He probably had no idea what I was talking about. I didn’t bother telling him my rank—it wasn’t something that he needed to know. Besides, not  _ only _ would it give away a potential advantage of mine, but it probably would have spawned ten times more questions as well.

“What belt–” Evren was about to continue until he was interrupted by the sound of a twig snapping, the two of us just about having heart attacks. 

Both of us snapped our heads in the direction of the mystery sound, our guards raised up as high as we could possibly bring them. Well, at least  _ I _ did. Evren didn’t look as though we were in danger. His shoulders, while previously contracted in fear, now hung loosely again, as if he instantly just forgotten that something might very well be trying to kill us. 

Is this guy okay? Does he need professional help? Maybe he thinks he can outrun me if it’s something that’s about to chase us—jokes on him. I’m pretty fast in short sprints, even with my stubby legs.

We soon found the cause of the noise, a dark grey cat stalked up to us. Specifically, up to Evren. Neither of us moved, not knowing what the cat would do. It was completely unexpected when the cat rubbed against Evren’s leg—at least to  _ me  _ it was. Evren seemed to be shocked for a whole other reason. 

“Shady?” Evren gasped, almost as if a light bulb had just flickered on in his mind. He knelt down to scratch behind Shady’s ear. I felt my eyebrows raise up in amusement, repeating the name back to Evren.

“Shady?” It was almost cute that the cat’s name matched its appearance.  _ Almost. _

“Yes, his name is Shady and he’s been my best friend since we got him,” Evren spat back defensively enough that one would’ve thought that I’ve just insulted his firstborn. For all I know, I may have done just that.

“I didn’t know we could bring our pets here! All three of us can go on adventures together! Or four of us if we find your pet, Toby” Evren mused, continuing his thought all too cheerfully. Picking up Shady, Ev began holding him like a baby. I wouldn’t exactly call myself a pessimist, per se, but he was  _ way _ too happy over a cat. I could feel myself filling with lament—like a 1,000-pound weight was put on my chest. I felt like my blood had turned to lead and if I found myself in a body of water, I would surely drown. 

Seeing the way Evren he held his cat, I didn’t even need  _ eyes _ to see how much he cared for Shady, and how much Shady cared for Evren. Would this be considered jealousy? I’m not that kind of person—not usually, so that can’t be the case, can it? I brushed off the feeling, bottling it up and moving along.

“Whatever, we need to find Olive at some point this century.” I walked onward, a bit faster in hopes to get far enough ahead of Evren to be out of conversation range. Evren scoffed. 

“Damn, what’s your  _ problem _ all of a sudden!?” Evren was calling after me, his footsteps scampering behind me in a hurried attempt to keep up with my own. My legs may be short, but I take big steps to make up for it. 

“Don’t worry about it, ” I sighed, not exactly in the mood for a therapy session with some guy I’ve known for  _ what,  _ maybe a week or so? From some sort of dream universe, no less. I don’t need to explain myself to him. I wish he would just take the hint and leave me alone to brood in peace. 

“But I want to help,” Evren replied, his voice softening. I’ll admit that I was probably acting a bit too harsh on the guy. He honestly seemed like he had been actually trying to help. I don’t mean to be so austere, but I’m hurting. I’m hurting really bad, and I don’t know what else to do. 

“Well,  _ Evren,”  _ I spat, “Have you ever considered that  _ maybe  _ I don’t  _ want _ your help?” I was teetering right on the edge of raising my voice. “Just… mind your own business okay?” Evren huffed, I for a split second that he might’ve finally relented, dropping the topic and moving on. Needless to say, I was wrong. 

“Why are you acting so  _ mean _ ?” I could hear traces of anger in Evren’s voice. Anger laced with frustration. I wish he would just drop it already so I wouldn’t have to keep snapping at him. He’s like a mouse that keeps going back in the mousetrap over and over and over in hopes that something might’ve changed since the last attempt, and that maybe  _ this _ time, he’d get to run off with the bait. This time, I settled with simply not responding.

There was a long pause before it became clear that Evren did, once again, not take the hint.

Evren clicked his tongue. “Is it that you’re not a cat person?” Evren asked. At the moment, the sound of his voice rang through my ears like nails on a chalkboard. I kept ignoring him. What else was there to do? I should’ve handled this differently.  _ God _ , I’m such a screw-up.

Evren seemed to be fed up with my shit (reasonably so, if I’m being honest). In one quick motion, he gently set Shady down, and, not-so-gently, grabbed hold of my wrist, forcing me to listen to him this time, “What the hell is your problem, I’m just trying to help and you’re being really rude,” he said, his voice giving away that he was trying to keep his composure. I can’t blame him. 

“Maybe because I have some random dude sticking his nose in my business? Maybe it’s because you should listen when someone tells you to knock it off. Maybe it’s because you’re not helping like you think you are and you need to back off,” I practically growled, yanking my wrist out of his grip as quickly as he had first grabbed it.

_ Something  _ about that seemed to work because I gained no response from Evren. He hardly made a sound until I heard him sniffle. Maybe I was too harsh. Maybe I went  _ too  _ far.

Whatever. It got him off my case nonetheless, so I suppose everything still went according to plan. Successful or not, I can’t help but feel a pang of guilt. He had only been trying to be nice, but at the same time, he couldn’t seem to understand that I wanted to be left alone. My mind starts going through all the better ways I could’ve handled that situation without making a complete ass of myself.

I didn’t even hear Evren yelling for me to watch out until it was too late. I was too lost in my own thoughts—a state I frequently find myself in. Someone—no, not someone, some _ thing _ —had it claws placed harshly on my back. Whatever it was, it tackled me to the ground like a goddamn quarterback.

  
  



	4. Evren

Sure, I may have fucked up a couple times throughout the day, but just the  _ average  _ amount of fucking up.  _ Certainly _ not to the same caliber that  _ Toby _ did when he decided to just flat out  _ ignore _ me. I tried to warn him—to tell him to watch out, but he was too busy sulking like a toddler to even notice. What was his deal, anyway? I was only trying to help. I swear he’s allergic to friendship or something. Maybe I  _ should _ just let the dog attack him.

It was nothing more than a thought that popped into my head—born out of spite and of mild hurt. I could never bring myself to just stand by as someone is getting attacked. It’s not who I am.

My legs moved faster than I had ever previously thought possible, as I found myself in a mad rush to help Toby. In one quick motion I was there, beginning to pry the brown dog off of him—or, at least, was  _ trying _ to. 

The instant my hands first made contact with the dog, it was clear that something was _wrong._ Call it what you want. Eerie. Eldritch. Unnatural. Uncanny. This dog was _ice_ _cold_. 

Whatever the hell it was, it sure wasn’t a dog. That eases my mind a bit. Now that I know what it  _ really  _ is (or, more accurately, what it  _ isn’t _ ) that I’m dealing with, I won’t have to feel so bad about doing this. Backing up a few yards, gaining some momentum, I prepared for a running start. The game plan was to tackle the undead  _ thing  _ and get it off of Toby. 

As I put my plan into action, Toby quickly got to his feet, free from the dog’s grasp. I could see his eyes darting around frantically, trying to figure out what just happened. The rest of my plan—choking out the demonic corpse dog and then getting the  _ hell _ out of here—began to falter as I saw the look on his face. I kept an iron grip on the dog nonetheless, still denying it any chance of escape.

On any given day, Toby was pale.  _ Really  _ pale. He’s pale enough that I never imagined he could get  _ any _ paler. Once his eyes landed on the dog, however, I was proven completely wrong. His new shade of skin was practically blinding, as all the blood seemed to have drained from his face. He looked like a deer in headlights.

All at once, his once trembling demeanor shifted from looking like he was about to be sick to a wild sort of panic. 

“Evren,  _ stop _ ,” he cried. “Don’t you dare hurt her!” He was practically screaming. What was this guy’s problem? I figured he was petty—I don’t think anyone is socially oblivious enough  _ not  _ to—but he could at least thank me for, you know, saving his life. 

On another, arguably more important note, what does he mean by ‘her’? Who, exactly,  is ‘her’? Surely it can’t be the dog, can it? The dog that isn’t even a dog? The thing that is currently attacking us? How could he possibly expect me to not fight back?  _ Jesus Christ _ , this guy really  _ does _ have problems. I loosen my grip on the dog regardless, though I don’t take my hands off of it completely. I’m not  _ that  _ stupid.

“Do you even know what this thing  _ is _ ?” The adrenaline that was pumping through my veins was making my voice more shaky than I’d care to admit. I nod my head in the direction of the dog, gesturing towards it so he knows what I’m talking about. The effort, in hindsight, was most likely not even worth the try. You’d sooner find a four-sided triangle than you’d find effective communication between Toby and me.

I’ve been in Orrinbyrde significantly longer than Toby has. He always appears a few hours after me, leaving me to wander around aimlessly and alone until he decides to  _ finally  _ go to bed. Maybe he’s from a different time zone..? Regardless, if  _ I  _ don’t know what that– that  _ thing  _ is, he shouldn’t either. Unless he’s here at times when I’m not (which also could be a possible solution if he likes to take naps), the situation sets itself up for me to be justifiably concerned about his well being—mental  _ and  _ soon-to-be physical. 

Toby shoots me a look of indignance, (you know the one—jaw slightly clenched, hands in fists so tight that his knuckles were turning white, eyes narrowed in my direction like  _ I’m  _ the moron in this situation). Was he really so upset about me trying to save his life? Did I do something else to upset him further? Is there more to this zombie-dog situation that I’m not aware of? 

My mind goes back to a couple of minutes ago, skimming over our previous conversations. With my luck, it’s probably something blatantly obvious that I’m missing out on. I feel myself shrink a bit in size, the self-doubt weighing me down like a life jacket made out of solid lead. As a counterbalance, I try to puff out my chest—a little trick I’d learned a few years ago—to make myself appear more confident, masking my self-doubt.  _ God _ , I’m such a disaster. 

“What do you mean by ‘ _ this thing?’ _ ” He spat, looking like he was right on the verge of a breakdown.  _ Yep _ , there’s definitely something going on that I haven't picked up on.  _ Something  _ about this dog-thing is making him distressed. 

I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he  _ did  _ break down. He seems to hold so much in and to release it in all the wrong ways—like when he put me in a freaking wristlock. I knew what that really was—stress and anxiety overflowing out of him like a dam during a hurricane. 

I knew because I’ve  _ been _ there before. I  _ knew  _ because I had enough prior knowledge of what it means to arrive in Orrinbyrde, confused, bedraggled, and completely disoriented. What I  _ don’t  _ know—whatever it is that I seem to be missing out on—is what’s causing me my  _ own  _ steaming heap of distress. I hate this. I hate not knowing what’s going on. Even worse, I hate not knowing what’s going on when there’s an evil dog-thing growling and foaming at the mouth as it orchestrates our gruesome demise.

Toby, blatantly ignoring  _ any _ shred of common sense that he may have  _ possibly _ had at the moment—the scarce, shy, and shriveled up bits of common sense hiding in the darkest corners of his brain, muscles atrophied from a lack of use—was trying to approach the dog. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but do you  _ want  _ rabies?” I was looking at him like he was absolutely insane (he was). Toby shoots me a glare. 

While he probably intended for it to be  _ cold  _ and  _ steely, _ like those rich and well dressed, yet cold, calculating, and emotionally unavailable male characters in kinky white collar erotica, it came across as absolutely  _ maniacal.  _ Maybe he actually  _ does _ have a death wish. Maybe he doesn’t just  _ want _ rabies. Maybe he’s already rabid. 

Toby crouched down, holding a shaky hand out towards the dog. I have no more words. No questions grace my mind anymore. There’s nothing left to ask. I haven’t known him for too long—time is hard to conceptualize here. While he doesn’t seem to like me too much, I feel something for him—a need. I need him, and even if he doesn’t know it, even if he doesn’t  _ want  _ it, he needs me too. We need each other if we’re going to survive here. Without him, I’m going to die.

I watch in horror, but not in surprise, as he talks to the undead dog.

_ He’s going to die. Toby is going to die and I’m just standing here.  _

Every bone in my body is telling me to  _ do  _ something. 

“Bella?” he murmurs softly, inching closer to the dog. “It’s me, Bella…” Toby is going to die here. Without Toby, so will I. 

_ I am going to die here. _

He’s crazy. Toby is  _ actually _ crazy. He’s trying to reason with this zombie dog. Everything is flashing before my eyes and the fear was working hard at dropping my body temperature. 

Soon enough, the realization made the mild chills turn frigid. Cold shudders begin to flow through my body in waves, as I feel myself snapping back to reality. It was like someone had just dumped a gallon of ice cold water over my head. 

My dread induced morose was fading, and what I felt next could only be described as  _ anger _ . I’m being forced to associate with a goddamn  _ madman _ and he’s going to be the cause of my death. Fan-fucking-tastic. Who does he think he is? Who is  _ he  _ to decide that this dog-like  _ thing  _ is more important than our mission—a mission that we haven’t even been able to learn about yet! All thanks to him, we may never even get the chance. 

Before the three of us (dog included) had time to react, two people ran up after this ‘Bella’ dog. 

Dressed in what appeared to be some sort of hunting gear, the pair eyed us warily, their gazes taking the form of an analytical once-over, as they took in whichever information their five senses could pick up. It was a bit unnerving if I’m being completely honest. 

“What the hell did you do to my dog!?” Toby yelled, his mood changing for the fifth time this millisecond. So far, he’s gone from dread, to some sort of holier-than-thou, pissed off attitude, then to a gentle, cautious one, and now he’s made it all the way to blinding, white-hot rage. 

Everything was starting to make sense—the dog was his. Puzzle pieces were clicking together at rapid speeds.

He probably used to share a deep bond with the dog—that must be how he knew its name.  _ That _ must be why he felt like he could play  _ god _ and risk both of our lives, and, quite possibly, the well-being of the entirety of Orrinbyrde. All for a cold, dead, corrupted corpse.

Can’t he understand that that the dog isn’t the same one he loves? For some, sick, twisted reason, someone must’ve reanimated her corpse. If not that, then maybe it’s some sort of visual illusion to mess with his head. I can understand him being upset. I really,  _ really  _ can, but at the moment, he’s letting all that anger get in the way of his basic survival instincts. 

The two hunters responded to Toby’s question with an eerie silence. You could probably hear a pin drop. 

Finally, breaking the quiet, one of the men let out a bemused laugh, like he knows something that Toby and I don’t. 

Enraged, and as usual, demonstrating his  _ wonderful _ amount of impulse control and capacity to take charge of his emotions without externalizing them in the most self-destructive way possible, Toby charged at the two hunters at full speed. I would’ve held him back if I was quick enough. For such a small guy, his short legs move at speeds  _ far  _ faster than one would expect. 

Nothing much was left to do— _ especially _ not anything that would make any sort of remote difference—aside from sitting back and watching the chaos unfold. One word flashed through my mind in big, bolded letters. ‘ **Dumbass.’**

As it turns out, I couldn’t have been more right. Toby stormed right up to one of the hunters, sizing him up,  _ clearly _ not pleased about his question not being answered in the way that he would’ve liked. So  _ stupidly  _ predictable. 

“I’ll ask you again, what did you-,” Toby was cut off, tumbling backwards with a sharp yelp. He was clutching his gut, amidst a minor coughing fit. He must’ve been punched in the stomach. 

“Hey! Why’d you do that!? He didn’t even touch you!” I hollered out. I might not like Toby, but that was  _ absolutely  _ uncalled for. 

Unfortunately, my statement didn’t last too long. Before I even had time to finish my sentence, he was back on two feet, his hands making contact with the chest of the nearest hunter. He shoved. Hard.

To my surprise, the man stumbled back a few feet. I wasn’t alone in this—the two men both seemed rather taken aback as well. Unfortunately, what he did most definitely wasn’t enough to deter them, but I’d be willing to bet that it was  _ just  _ enough to piss them off (even more). I should probably step in now before he gets us killed. I’ve always hated intervening, honestly. Conflict has never been my thing, but what else can I do? It almost feels like an obligation to me. Caring about other people is just what I do, I guess.

In a quick sprint to meet up with Toby and the two men whom he’d decided it was a good idea to fight, I already felt myself getting more and more disoriented. This is all happening way too fast. I don’t know what to do, and I’m, quite frankly, freaking the fuck out.

Placing two firm hands on Toby’s shoulders, I yank him out of the way of one of the hunter’s punches. I guess  _ I’ll _ just have to be this guy’s impulse control since he has little to none himself. It doesn’t take a genius to be able to tell that he wasn’t exactly the biggest fan of this—every muscle in his body seemed to seize up the instant I made physical contact with him. Putting that aside, I did the only thing I could think of at the moment. 

“Back up! Stop! Truce!” I didn’t know what else to say, I just wanted this to all stop until I had even a vague idea of what the hell was going on. 

The realization that I had no idea what I was planning to do or say next hit me like a sack of bricks.

“What did you do to my dog!? Let her go!” Toby’s face was red, and his eyes had gone completely wild. He was yelling at the hunters with, what I  _ assume  _ to be his full volume. 

Without a solid game-plan, I acted, however, I saw fit. Grabbing Toby’s arm, I attempted to further hold him back with a more secure grip. From what I’ve seen so far from this guy, it was no use to try to restrain him. I mentally crossed my fingers, hoping he’d at least  _ somewhat _ cooperate.

“She’s not your dog anymore. She belongs to the Rightful Hero,” one of the hunters asserted. The Rightful Hero? Excuse me? Seriously, if this is yet  _ another  _ bad guy we have to take down, I’d have to seriously wonder about this place, and why the hell there were so many evil dudes. 

Without even so much as an extra second worth of time to—no matter how futile the attempt may be—process the whole “Rightful Hero” predicament, the words of the second hunter made my blood run cold.

“They could be useful, take them,” he ordered. Without hesitation, from either the first hunter or even the dog herself, Bella leaped onto Toby’s back knocking him back down to the ground.

I should’ve been paying better attention to my  _ own _ surroundings. I knew Toby could handle himself (except with that dog apparently). Yet, once again, I’d managed to forget about  _ my _ self, as I turned my head to check on him. The next thing I knew, a blunt object—what I can only assume to be one of the hunters’ guns, collided with the side of my head with an ear-splitting crack, followed by the most intense pain I’d ever felt. Luckily, it didn’t last too long, as I fell limp to the ground and everything faded to black.


	5. Toby

I felt my blood run cold as I recognized the Cane Corso Mastiff that had attacked us. Physically fighting the tears as they filled my eyes, threatening to spill down my face like a middle school bully victim. No, I couldn’t let myself cry, I haven’t cried in public since 8th grade. Not in front of Evren especially. God forbid he knows I actually have feelings.

“Evren, stop! Don’t you  _ dare  _ hurt her,” I yelled out once I found my voice. This dog attacking us. She was my pet, Bella. Well, when she was alive that is… I was the one who found her lifeless body in the hallway.

I got lost in the memory of that night. The uncontrolled sobbing, the aching in my chest, my (probably undeserved) hatred towards my parents. They  _ knew _ it would be her last night and they didn’t even have the decency to tell me. I never got a proper goodbye…

“Do you even know what this thing is?” Evren spat heartlessly. Actually, yes I do Mr. KnowItAll. She was a loyal dog and the only living thing I could find comfort in, she didn’t deserve whatever happened to her.

“What do you mean by ‘ _ this thing _ ’?” I retorted, shooting a glare in Evren’s direction, probably sounding defensive. Bella’s death was a little over a month ago, it was still a sensitive subject for me. I did my best to hold myself together. Evren didn’t need to see me have an emotional breakdown, nor did I have to time to do so.

Suddenly, an idea popped into my head. It was probably crazy, but if it worked I might actually have something to look forward to when I’m awake. I knelt down, extending an empty hand towards the large Mastiff to show I wasn’t a threat.

“Bella?” I say softly, slowly inching closer to my childhood friend, “it’s me Bella…”

Before I could get a reaction from my dog, two people ran up to us as if they were trying to keep up with Bella. They were dressed ready for a hunt.

“What the hell did you do to my dog!?” I yelled, furiously. I know I probably jumped to conclusions, but why else would they be chasing my dog? Cane Corsos are sometimes used as hunting dogs. 

The two people just stayed silent. It would be an understatement if I said it kind of pissed me off when they ignored me. I’ve been ignored my whole life, it made me absolutely furious. 

One of the hunters finally responded with a nauseating laugh. This is my best friend we’re talking about, and for this guy to take it as a joke really set me off. I stormed right up to the two hunters, demanding an actual response.

“I’ll ask you again, what did you-” I started before the breath was suddenly yanked from my lungs. It probably seemed like it hurt more than it actually did from an outside perspective. I’ve been punched before so it’s not like this is a new experience, but that didn’t stop the natural reaction of gasping for air.

“Hey! Why’d you do that? He didn’t even touch you!” Evren called from his place a few feet away.

That really set me off, I was raised with a philosophy of ‘if someone hits you, hit back harder’. That’s exactly what I planned to do. I recovered from the hit and balled my hand into a tight fist. I drew my hand back, more than ready to slug this guy, but I was stopped by two hands grabbing my shoulders and pulling me away from my opponents. Every muscle in my body tensed, trying to escape Evren’s grip so I could beat the hunters to a pulp. Evren was obviously against that plan. 

“Back up! Stop! Truce!” He called out before I could protest him holding me back. That was all Evren had to say like he didn’t completely think through his plan. As the hard-headed, stubborn person I am, I chose to ignore what he said completely and go back to getting answers.

“What did you do to my dog!? Let her go!” I demanded as loud as I could, which honestly wasn’t that loud. My voice is naturally quiet, so even at my full volume, it’s not exactly loud. I felt Evren’s grip on my arm tighten, probably trying to hold me back. I was about to break from Evren’s hold when I finally got an answer. Although, it’s not what I wanted to hear.

“She’s not your dog anymore. She belongs to the Rightful Hero,” one of the hunters finally answered. Well, it was about goddamn time they answered, even if it was that. I don’t know who this “Rightful Hero” guy was, but he was definitely getting my fist through his face for what he did to Bella.

“They could be useful, take them,” the same hunter added before anyone else could respond. The second that command left their mouth, Bella jumped onto my back just like she did before. I was torn between logic and emotion. Logic said to fight back, this isn’t my Bella, but Emotion told me she’s in there somewhere and I didn’t want to hurt her.

The second hunter slammed the butt of his gun into Evren’s temple. I cringed at the sound of contact. That’s going to feel great when he wakes up. He must’ve fallen unconscious because the second hunter simply threw Evren over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. I should have listened to Logic and fought back…

The first hunter went over to where Bella had me pinned, he gave the corrupt dog a praising pat on the head before grabbing me by my hair and pulling me to my feet. Without another word from the hunters, they lead me towards their camp. Evren stayed unconscious the whole way. About halfway there, I noticed something. Shady wasn’t with us anymore. My mind drifted towards that thought until my hair was yanked to make me walk faster. It didn’t really hurt, but with my hair being attached to my head, it made me walk faster.

A kept an eye out for a possible opportunity to escape. With three versus one, chances of that were slim, but my dumb ass tried anyway.

When I felt the first hunter was distracted, I stomped on his foot with my heel. To my disadvantage, the boots they wore made their feet not the best target. They simply stopped walking to give me a disgusted look, one that came across as ‘is that all you got?’ I love being underestimated.

While he was thinking my attempt was futile, I spit in his face. When he let go of my hair to wipe his face, I booked it. I ran as fast as I could before realizing I didn’t exactly think this through all the way. My corrupt dog was chasing me and the hunter whose face I spit in was already pissed and looking for me. I ran towards a heavily wooded area, it would be easier to blend and hide there.

One thing that came to my advantage with the Cane Corso chasing me, was that I knew her weaknesses. From a young age, Bella had bad hips and it affected her ability to run long distances, but that didn’t stop the first hunter from continuing to pursue me. He would most likely be harder to outsmart. I also had to think of a way to get back to Evren. He may be a pain in my ass, but I couldn’t leave him with those guys.

I swerved through the trees when I thought of my plan- to hide in one of the trees. Where I grew up there weren’t any trees to climb, but I’ve played Assassin’s Creed so how hard could it be.

I got to a tree with a branch low enough for me to grab, pulling myself up onto the limb. I climbed higher in the tree until I thought I couldn’t be seen. I could hear footsteps growing nearer and nearer. I shrank back into the leaves, hoping this would work. The footsteps neared to where I could see the first hunter and Bella. They walked right passed me.

I carefully walked along the branch to get to the next, I jumped onto it. I would’ve made it, but I felt something hit my arm. It felt like a bee sting, but worse. I lost my footing on the tree limb and fell. I crash landed with a loud thud and I thought I heard something crack. My first instinct was to see what I got hit with. It was a glowing green dart. What the hell was that? My vision got blurry before I blacked out.

I woke up in what looked like a dark, run-down temple with a pounding headache. Is this what a hangover is like? I was next to a flight of stairs with my arms bound behind me and my ankles tied together. This time I made sure to know my surroundings before trying to escape again.

“At least Toby got away,” a familiar voice said, not too far from where I was.

“I’m right behind you, dipshit,” I responded bluntly, causing Evren to turn and face me. Evren opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by the clanking of metal on stone, harmonized by the ticking of gears clunking towards us.

The mechanical ticking gradually grew louder as it got closer until we were met with a large robot on four legs. It stood about seven feet tall, but it was hunched over so the face was slightly taller than myself. This thing was creepy as shit. Evren and could only watch in horror as that satan spawn clanked closer to us.

“They’re here Olivia,” The thing said, it’s voice raspy and full of static. Like of one of those vintage records.

Olivia. Wasn’t she the last person we needed? What was she doing here of all places? Was this why we couldn’t find her in the city or that forest?

Evren, obviously beyond uncomfortable was doing his best to keep as much distance between himself and that thing. I couldn’t blame him.

“Olive,” The mechanical thing called out once more, slowly turning around to go back the way it came.

The robot repeatedly called out the name until we heard another set of footsteps coming our way. Human footsteps, that is. At least I hoped they were, it sounded like the person was wearing heels. From the darkness emerged a woman. Sticking with the Steampunk, Victorian theme, she wore a black over-the-shoulder blouse, a deep red petticoat skirt, and goggles that perched neatly on top of her head. She had golden hair curled back in an updo, except two strands that were too short. Across her chest, she had a strap to hold a blunderbuss.

“These are the imposters?” The girl I can only assume to be Olive said with a snide tone. Jeez I know we’re not much but did she really need that attitude?

“Wow it’s nice to meet you too, Olivia,” I spat back. As a firm believer in giving people a taste of their own medicine, I could be just as snarky. Olive raised an eyebrow as she side-eyed me. Oh, it was  _ on _ . Let the Snark Off begin Olivia Whatever-your-last-name-is.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you that if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all?” Olive snapped. I kept my laughter internal.

“Um, guys we shouldn’t fight,” Evren tried to intervene

“Zip it, Evren. I can’t let her be sassier than me!” I shushed him. Olive let out a scoff. She was really starting to get on my nerves. It was at this moment, I realized both my team members are insufferable pricks.

“No, your friend is right,” Olive agreed in a ‘as a matter of fact’ tone. Whatever this mission is, it’s going to suck.

Suddenly, a familiar clunking sound clanked towards us. Olive must’ve known what that meant because she simply got this smug grin on her face as she folded her arms.

“Is he bothering you mom?” a monotone, a vintage voice said from afar. That nightmare fuel of a robot was back. Mom? Was this thing her  _ pet _ ? I bet Olive has a fun personality.

“Actually yes, Greg” Olive started in faux hurt. At this point, I couldn’t contain my laughter. That creepy as hell, nightmare fuel, Satan spawn was called Greg. I looked at Evren, he must’ve had the same idea because he did the same. Not even a second later, we were both laughing uncontrollably. I can’t speak for Evren, but I laughed until I had tears in my eyes and my sides hurt. That satanic hunk of junk did not come off as a ‘Greg’.

“Shut up! Don’t be mean to him! You’re going to make him sad!” Olive scolded us before going over to hug one of Greg’s arachnid-looking legs

“Don’t listen to those meanies buddy,” She consoled before giving Evren and I a cold glare. Evren had calmed down, and I tried to. I truly did try to stop laughing, but the way she treated that thing like her child was just too damn funny. Olive clearly wasn’t amused.

“Greg. Pull his eyes out.” She commanded. Whoa whoa whoa. Do  _ what _ now? Olive let go of the robot’s leg so it could trudge closer to me. I tried backing away, but that’s a little tricky when your hands and feet are tied. Time for my next best defense. Sarcasm and insults.

“Thank the gods. I don’t know how much longer I could stand your ugly mug.” I insulted the first thing that came to mind.

“Gee you sure got me. Where’d you learn that one? Second grade?” Olive spat before I could claim my victory.

“Can you guys stop bickering for two seconds?” Evren intervened once more, “Olive you need to help us get out of here, we have to get back to the city so we can find out what we’re here for,” He explained, trying to be the voice of reason.

“Yeah and it would be a nice bonus if you could call off your friend here” I added, running out of room to scoot away from the mechanical demon. 

I soon felt my back hit stone, I was out of room to back away and Greg didn’t stop getting closer. I instinctively squeezed my eyes shut and looked away. What happened next, only Olive could’ve expected.

Instead of violently tearing out my eyes, Greg started to play a song.  _ That _ song everyone knows. Greg was playing the  _ goddamn _ rick rolled song.

I was void of all emotion. I was torn between being happy I got to keep my eyes, pissed that she completely played me, and upset that I fell for it (even though I didn’t really have any other choice). So my mind chose neither and I just sat there listening to that stupid song as I stared blankly at Olive while she lost her shit.

“You should’ve seen the look on your face!” she gloated as she wiped tears from laughing so hard.

“Stop mentally scarring the hostages you sadist,” Another female voice called which Olive froze upon hearing. 

  
  



End file.
